And if we don't get our arses round Austin Point and back before high tide, we're going to be hugging something other than geology soon. It's a mad scramble through a tangle of biology up to Highway 101 if you get stranded on the beach. So let's get a move on.

The character of the place changes a bit down here. And it's a good place to talk about basalt.

First off, if one's just taking a casual look round, it's easy to be deceived. What with all these dikes, stringers, sills, and so forth, it's easy to think that these basalts are natives. In fact, for a while, that's just what geologists thought. The source didn't seem like it could be too far from here. After all, the way the Columbia River Basalts insinuated themselves into the local strata, it looked just like they'd arrived from below.

However, that's not what gravity and chemistry tells us.

A Finger o' Basalt

Check this dude out. If he were a local, he'd be rooted pretty far down, thousands of feet in fact. But gravity studies revealed that all that lovely, solid basalt stops just a few hundred feet beneath the surface. Weird, inexplicable - until you look east, and realize there's a whole big plateau of this stuff covering appreciable parts of Oregon and Washington. But most of the basalt flows we're used to travel only so far and then peter out: a mile, a dozen, sometimes a hundred. But nearly half a thousand? Read some of the old scientific papers on this area, and you'll see that geologists struggled with the idea.

But then came chemistry. And chemical analysis said, "Yup, that's sure Columbia River Basalt, that is. Eye-din-tee-cull." It boggles the mind - we've had zero experience with state-spanning flows of flood basalts in recent history. If I'm remembering rightly, humans in historical time never have witnessed such a thing. But it happened here.

Down here to the south, the Grande Ronde looms more. And it's a mass of fractures and fragments, welded together.

Scarface

Make sure at some point to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the point and look out to sea. It's a wild and wonderful view.

Rampart

Clamber over the riot of rocks, basalt rising up on both sides of you. Once you're through the gap between head and stack, you'll suddenly emerge from igneous to sedimentary again.

Dipping Down

If you're looking at those layers and thinking, "Hmm, tilty," you're not wrong - they've got a pronounced dip. Why this is, I have not yet discovered, but I imagine it has quite a bit to do with hanging about on the edge of a subduction zone.

Sandstone Slope

Notice the basalt stack right to the right of it, there? That's remnants of a big dike of Grande Ronde basalt that sheared off the Astoria Formation, and now protects it from the worst of the waves.

Down near the tide line, when you can find bits that aren't all covered in crunchy-coated biology, you can see just how smooth and slick basalt can become when polished by sand-laden waves.

Scoured Basalt

The spaces between the sea stacks and the headland form channels, and so we end up with these lovely smooth bits that look like they've been scoured out by a river. See how fractured and fragmented it is, even polished? When the basalt hit the coast and plunged into the cold Pacific waters, it cooled rapidly enough to shatter. In places, it actually boiled the water, and you can see red oxidized basalt where that happened.

Things look rather different where the water's been at the sandstone.

Carven

Looks like the sea's trying to tunnel through here, helped by pebbles.

I want to turn your attention now to the head, where you can see basalt and sediments getting really intimate.

Entwined

See how the basalt threads its way through the sandstone, there? When it reached the coast, it sank into the mud and sand, butted in between layers, and wove itself into any space it could find or make. In places, it incorporated the sediments into itself. Told you this is XXX geology.

Jaunty Basalt Cap

If the Columbia River Basalt's Grande Ronde formation hadn't made it out to the coast, it's quite possible, even probable, we wouldn't be seeing these lovely cliffs. We certainly wouldn't have the imposing heads and monolithic sea stacks. Sandstones and mudstones aren't as inclined to hold up against wave action, as we'll see when we get to Parte the Fifth.

In places, the intruding Grande Ronde squirted up through the sediments. Remnants still stand watch, tall and imposing.

Sentinel

Get closer to one of them. Let's choose the one that's tilting like a charming drunk.

Leaning Tower

Notice how chunky it is, some of it blocky and some more brecciated. This basalt didn't have a long, quiet cool-down. If you've ever wondered why sea stacks look so rough, now you know it isn't just the relentless pounding of the waves - it's the explosive action of rapid quenching.

Come closer still.

Jumbly-Wumbly

Check that out. Chips, cracks, and even some rough conchoidal fractures off to the left, there. This is some seriously broken rock. It makes it a lot of fun to explore. Unfortunately, before we could get really immersed in it, we were getting immersed in something else. Stupid high tide.

Gazing North

One last, long, lingering look; one last fond pat for the rocks; one final moment to contemplate the power of good Mother Earth to create and destroy; and then it's off to the Land o' Lincoln (City), where we'll meet the world's shortest river.

Ye olde indispensable volumes of reference as the author was trying to make sense of it all:

Of course you can see the grand ronde lavas without any vegetation tohide them. One place is at the Sheep Rock Unit of John Day Fossil Bends National Monument. As you go east the cover gets thinner and thinner. While I have not been there out in far eastern Oregon the Oywee River canyon has almost no obscuring vegatation, or you can go up to the Imaha river canyon or Hells Canyon to see the lava overlaying rocks folded in chevron faults from the collision of plates.